


Dormant

by unsettled



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies)
Genre: Guilt, Kinktober, M/M, Marking, Non-Consensual Somnophilia, Somnophilia, creeper!peter, guilt for everyone!, major consent issues, not quite dark!Peter but close
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-15
Updated: 2020-10-15
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:49:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,666
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27032983
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unsettled/pseuds/unsettled
Summary: It doesn’t matter how much Peter wants or tries, he’ll never have even a chance with Tony.While he’s awake, at least.
Relationships: Peter Parker/Tony Stark
Comments: 18
Kudos: 98
Collections: Unsettled's Kinktober 2020





	Dormant

Peter should have left twenty minutes ago. 

He knows this even as he continues to sit there, right next to Tony. He knows there's no good excuse for the way he's watching Tony sleep, the way he's actually on Tony's bed, the way he's thinking of— 

But Tony had wanted him there, he tells himself. Sure, he'd said he was sorry, that Peter shouldn't see him like this, drunk and exhausted and stumbling over his own feet, words slurring. Said that he shouldn't put any of that on Peter, but he'd let Peter half hold him up and get him to bed.

Said, sprawled out on the bed, his hand darting forward to catch Peter's wrist, "I'm sorry, kid. I'm so sorry; I should have done better, kept you safer. Shouldn't have let you die like that. Fuck, I'm sorry."

"Mr. Stark," Peter'd said, "it's okay, I'm okay. I'm right here, you didn't just let me die."

"Don't go," Tony's grip tight around his wrist. "Don't leave again, I can't— I'll figure it out, I will, I _will._ I’m going to get you back.”

“You did,” Peter had tried to tell him, over and over, but it’s like Tony couldn’t hear him, so— Peter had stayed. Tony dropped off—or passed out, he's not sure—shortly after. And then he still stayed.

He watches Tony sleep, all sprawled out and loose limbed, still frowning. It’s pretty creepy, he can’t deny that, but Peter wasn’t the only one that disappeared for a while. If he’s staring at Tony for more reasons than just… to know that he’s there, still alive and in one piece, well— no one else has to know. 

Tony's shirt has ridden up, a pale inch or two of skin exposed at his hips. Peter can't look away from it, and he knows it's wrong. He knows what Tony would say if he was awake.

But he's not.

"Mr. Stark?" Peter says. Repeats himself, louder, when there's no response. "Tony," he tries, shaking Tony's arm at the same time; nothing. It's as safe as it will ever be.

It's so wrong, but Tony's skin is soft when Peter presses his fingers to that exposed strip. Tony doesn't move, doesn't react at all as Peter rubs over that spot, not even when Peter catches the bottom edge of his shirt and slowly, slowly pulls it up. His heart is in his throat with every inch he exposes, the terror that Tony will wake up and shove him away smashing up against this— this desperate, horrible want, need, and losing to it. He's seen Tony without his shirt, but this is different. This— this way, he can feel Tony, can feel how his skin starts to turn ragged with scars, thick and raised. Peter traces them, spreads his hand flat against Tony's sternum and there's no reaction at all.

He slides his hand back down and oh, it's so wrong, even more wrong, but when will he ever get another chance like this? Tony would never let him, never want him to, but Tony will never have to know.

Tony's dick is soft against his thigh when Peter drags his boxers down, just past Tony's ass. Soft to the touch too, almost velvety, and Peter shouldn't be doing this. He curls a little closer, looking up at Tony as he trails his fingers along it; nothing.

Well. Not quite nothing, because that softness is disappearing under Peter's hand, Tony's dick starting to harden. It's hot in his hold, smooth and nice and he— he can say he knows what Tony's dick feels like, now.

It's not enough.

Please, he prays, please don't let Tony come around, because there's absolutely no way to explain away Peter licking Tony's dick, tasting it. Ducking down and closing his lips around it as it hardens more, letting it slide into his mouth and oh my god, it's unbelievable. Peter moans softly, unable to help himself, and takes more into his mouth. He’s never done anything like this before, never had any part of anyone else inside him, and he really loves the fact that Tony gets to be the first. 

How would Tony do it if he was awake, he wonders. Would he tell Peter what to do, how he liked it? Or would he just lay back like this and let Peter do all the work, watching and waiting for Peter to impress him? Peter can't, he knows he can't, but like this Tony can't be disappointed. Can't watch him, judging and finding Peter lacking, can’t laugh at his first, probably terrible attempt at a blowjob. It's not like Tony's dick seems to mind, at least.

Maybe Tony would get impatient with how long Peter's taking, put his hands in Peter's hair and shove him down on it; Peter tries to fit more of Tony in his mouth, drooling as he fights not to gag. He can't, and he's glad Tony didn't see that. Tony's had so much sex that there's no way anything about it would be special with Peter, even if it's all special for Peter.

Peter's hard, his dick dripping precome onto the bed, smearing it against his stomach. He thinks about stroking himself, getting off like this, but his hand winds up lower, one spit slick finger pressing into himself. If he tries, if he closes his eyes and focuses on sucking Tony's dick, he can almost pretend it's Tony's fingers in him, opening him up. He can pretend it’s every one of his fantasies come true.

It's fucking pathetic, that's what it is. Sick, disgusting that he's doing this, that he's getting off on it, but he can't stop. He doesn't want to stop. Tony— Tony would tell him to stop, probably, if he ever let Peter get this far, and it isn't fair. He wouldn't even give Peter a chance, and how is he supposed to not take the chance to know what Tony tastes like, to know what Tony feels like in him?

He's breathing heavy when he finally sits up, slinging his leg over Tony and kneeling up. Tony's hard and wet, and completely unresponsive aside from that, even when Peter pokes him hard in the stomach. He's not going to wake up for this either, Peter thinks. Hopes.

What would he do it Tony did? Peter shudders, his mind all too quick to flash through a dozen scenarios, from Tony furious, sickened, telling Peter to get off him and get out of the tower and get his head on straight to Tony freezing, staring up at Peter and asking what's going on, what is Peter doing, hey kid, stop. There's so many variations on those, different degrees of Tony telling him it's wrong and he should stop and he should go and Tony doesn't want him, and they all feel so much more likely than the one desperate, hungry fantasy he has of Tony just grabbing his hips and fucking up into him. Telling Peter he'd known Peter was watching, waiting, known that Peter was enough of a slut to try something like this, known that Peter would be so tight and hot and worth it, coming in him and claiming him.

It's a stupid fantasy, the sort that only belongs in his bedroom, in his head; not here, not now. It doesn't have any relation to reality.

But oh, he can dream.

It hurts more than a little as he sinks down onto Tony's cock but Peter doesn’t care; it feels huge and so warm and better than he could have imagined. He gives himself a minute once his ass is resting on Tony, once he can feel all of Tony inside him, just a minute to adjust. To watch Tony, completely still aside from the way his breathing has gotten a little faster, the tension in his face all gone, and it’s reassuring to think that even if Tony doesn’t know what’s happening, he’s still getting to enjoy it. It’s still making him feel good. That’s all Peter really wants.

He knows that Tony would never do this, never want him to do this— not never want him at all, because he thinks he knows what the look in Tony’s eyes is, every now and then, the way his gaze lingers on Peter, but he knows that Tony will never act on it. 

Peter would. If Tony ever asked, ever hinted, even so much as looked at him in that way, Peter would, without hesitation. But he _won’t._

It’s awful and Peter knows it, is ashamed that he can think it at all, but sometimes— sometimes, when he gets off, he thinks about how he could make Tony act on it. Even if Tony was awake, Peter could get Tony to fuck him, and he might not even have to web him up to get it. But Tony would never look at him the same after, never treat him the same and Peter can’t stand the thought of that, of losing what they have. 

He wishes he could kiss Tony.

When he starts fucking himself on Tony's dick, he looks up at the ceiling and wraps his hand around his dick and _goes_ for it. Does it just like he wants Tony to, hard and fast and hurting a bit, and pretty soon he can't keep back the noises he's making, the moans and gasps that are just coming out of his mouth. They don't wake Tony either, but Peter's almost past caring if he does. It'd be bad, it'd be so bad, but— it's too late now, what would Tony even do? What could he do that would be so much different than this, Tony's hips moving in his sleep, jerking up into Peter? Could he stop himself from fucking Peter, stop himself from coming in him, just like that, oh fuck, just like— Peter can feel it, had no idea he'd be able to feel Tony coming in him, the way Tony's dick twitches at the edges of his hole, the pulse of pressure deep inside him.

"Fuck," Peter moans, his hand flying on his dick, clenching down, and he comes all over Tony. He stares down at the mess he's made, and it's shocking, obscene that he's done that, he's fucking defiled Tony like that. And so, so hot.

He leans forward, Tony’s dick sliding out of him, and presses his lips to Tony’s. It’s not really a kiss, not with how Tony can’t respond to it, but his lips are warm, parted just enough for Peter to lick into Tony’s mouth, catch the taste of booze. It’s not a nice taste, but Peter doesn’t really deserve anything better.

Oh god, he really doesn’t, and it’s like that snaps some last thread of control in him. He kisses Tony again, and again, hard, mashing his lips against Tony’s unresponsive ones, grabbing at Tony’s head and tilting his back until Peter can kiss him better, can fuck his tongue into Tony’s mouth. He grabs one of Tony’s hands and pulls it up, wrapping it around his back like Tony is actually holding him, wanting him, and it’s all— he’s so awful, everything he’s doing is awful but if this is the only way he can ever have Tony, he’ll take it. 

He could fuck Tony like this; Tony’s heavy, lax, but Peter could move him around easily. He could wrap Tony’s legs around him, bend Tony in half and fuck him— or he could flip Tony over and have him that way, web him down so he wouldn’t move and Peter could fuck him over and over, could come in him and pretend it was because Tony wanted him to, Tony asked him to. Oh god, he could, and Tony would feel so good, would give in to it so easily—

Fuck, what is wrong with him? He can’t, he won’t. He won’t. 

Peter’s hard again, his dick sliding along Tony’s stomach as Peter ruts against him, rocking his hips fast and grinding down. He won’t fuck Tony like this, but he _wants_ to, he wants to have every last first he can with Tony. He’s disgusting and he knows Tony doesn’t want him, doesn’t want this, but he doesn’t _care._

He can’t kiss Tony anymore, just gasping against his lips as he gets closer; Peter buries his face in Tony’s neck instead, his eyes prickling. He never, ever wants Tony to see him like this, to know what Peter is willing to do. 

Never, whispers a tiny part of his mind, never ever? Not even a bit? Not even if it means you can have this again and again, and it’s true, god, it’s true that there is some part of him that wants it. Wants Tony to know just how much Peter wants him, needs him, what Peter would do for him. 

He shudders as he comes, spilling another load all over Tony, and in that moment after, that breath he finally draws, he bursts into tears. Stupid, loud, half hysterical tears, and this, this he really truly never wants Tony to know about, about the way he burrows into Tony’s shoulder and sobs on top of him, Tony’s arm slipping away from his waist. He can’t stop them, only muffle the sound. It’s awful.

Peter's shaky when slides off Tony, curls on his side next to Tony and looks at him, still dead to the world. He sniffs, rubbing at his eyes; he’s not crying anymore, but it feels like it’s just because he’s so worn out he doesn’t want to move at all. He should clean Tony up, make it as though this never happened. Or— it's filthy and wrong, but he could leave Tony like this. Leave him with his dick out and tacky with come, Peter's come dried on his stomach and chest. Leave him to wake up tomorrow and— what?

Would he be too hungover to even notice, really? Would he wonder what had happened, who he'd gone to bed with? Maybe remember that Peter had been there, before, and put two and two together? What would Tony do, if he thought that had happened? Would he say anything, or pretend it didn't happen?

Peter could stay. He could go to sleep like this, let Tony wake up next to him and there'd be no denying anything. Maybe Tony would believe it if Peter said he'd been interested too, that it hadn't all been Peter. Maybe he'd turn to Peter and kiss him and go again, just like that.

Maybe he'd kick Peter out.

He shivers. This, like this it's safe. There's no chance that he'd do something wrong, that Tony might reject him. Peter can just have this, without having to fight for it. He could keep having it.

It's wrong, It's _wrong_ and he knows it, but— he doesn't want to take the chance Tony might tell him no.

He’ll get up in a minute and go, he’ll leave Tony like this and— and he doesn’t know what will happen. He can’t know. 

But he wants— he wants something that Tony can’t wash off, can’t pretend didn’t happen, if that’s what he chooses. He wants something Peter can see the next time the meet, something that only Peter knows about. 

He presses closer to Tony, his mouth on Tony’s neck. Not there, or there; higher, so it can’t be hidden, further back, so Tony won’t see it when he looks in the mirror. Right there, that’s perfect, _perfect._ He bites at it, gently, sucking at that spot. It’s not dark enough when he pulls back, so he sets his mouth back against it and bites harder. 

Tony doesn’t stir, so Peter pushes more, and more, his breath shuddering out against Tony’s skin. This is his, this is his mark, just one more thing he’s given to Tony.

Just one more thing Tony never has to know about.


End file.
